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Thursday came quickly. John and I got together for lunch, this time opting for pizza at his favorite dive. I loved to tease him about the place and would never admit to him it really was the best pizza in town. He spent the entire lunch hour bringing me up to date on the arrests that had been made so far in what the media was calling the Prostitution Prosecution. The first one had been Hector Dalton and the second had been the mayor's son. I felt a certain sense of satisfaction when he told me the Domino Club was closed permanently.
By eight o'clock, I was ready to make the drive to the Cardinal bar. For this meeting, I drove my Porsche Cayenne. It was my favorite because of the way it handled. Besides, it always paid to make a good impression on a client. I arrived a few minutes early and found the bar filled with workers from a nearby paper factory. The air pollution in the area was so rank I hoped this exchange would be over quickly, and I couldn't imagine why one of the richest men in the state had chosen this as a meeting place. There would be no privacy here for conducting business. Out of the thirty or so people drinking, talking, and listening to loud country music, there were maybe two or three other women in the whole place. Since they were dressed pretty much like the men, I figured they were also factory workers. My presence stood out, to say the least. I was relieved that when I walked to the bar and ordered a drink, no one challenged my right to be there.
At five-after-nine, Roland walked in. If I'd created a stir when I'd entered the bar, Mr. Defrain caused every head to turn. About six-five, with a dark complexion and black hair, he would have stood out almost anywhere. Add to that the fact that he must weigh somewhere close to three hundred pounds, none of which was body fat, he was hard to miss. He didn’t look anything like the picture I’d built in my mind, and I was surprised by his rugged good looks. I had been expecting someone fifty or older and very dignified, but the man easily parting the crowd as he made his way to my side could have been as young as thirty and not more than forty-five. Spotting me at the bar, he walked over and kissed my cheek.
I said, “Did you pick this place because you wanted to make a scene, or did you just want to hobnob with the hoi polloi?”
His booming laugh once again garnered all eyes. “Ah, there you go showing off your vocabulary again. No, I wasn't looking for notice. I grew up not far from here, and this used to be a quiet neighborhood bar. It seemed like a good, out of the way place to meet. My bad, I see. Shall we go somewhere more private?”
He threw a twenty on the bar to cover the drink I hadn't touched and then took my arm, leading me to the exit. Again, a path quickly cleared for him through the crowd. A long, skinny parking lot was located beside the bar. I wondered if Defrain had known what I drove, because I was sure the BMW parked right next to me had to be his. As we walked, he said, “I was thrilled to get your message saying you'd found the book. I've been looking for that particular one for years, and it’s possibly the only copy that still exists. Did you bring it with you?”
“I did. It's well-hidden in my car, since I didn't want to take a chance some random thief would find it.” When we got close to the cars, I let out a string of cuss words. Both my car and Roland's were surrounded by broken glass. It looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to most of the windows on both cars. It was obvious the vandal had been inside as the doors were standing open. Roland said, “Shit, that car was new last week! At least it's heavily insured. I hope the book was as well-hidden as you claimed.”
I walked over to the passenger door and leaned inside the sad-looking Cayenne. This was my third car to take damage in a week. There was no doubt it had been thoroughly searched. Even the seat covers, and headliner had been slashed, but I was still hopeful that for once my paranoia was going to pay off. I reached into the crack between the seat and the backrest and undid the zipper located inside. Then I removed a section of seat about the size of a pillow. The foam cushion was what the thieves had found when they slit the seat cover. Under that was more padding except for one small section that held a metal box I’d had installed. The box was bolted to the frame of the car so that if anyone did manage to locate it, they would need some impressive tools to remove it. I worked the combination on the thick lock to find that the book was still there, safely wrapped exactly as it had been when I'd placed it in the box. I pulled it out and handed it to Roland. He said, “Thank God! I never regret hiring you because you always seem to be prepared for anything and everything.”
He started to say something else, and I was about to interrupt him to ask if he knew who the would-be thieves were when there was a loud rifle report. I instinctively ducked and began looking around for the shooter. Since Roland was on the ground, I assumed he had ducked as well. When he didn't say anything, I glanced in his direction. He was still clutching the book, but there was a ragged round hole through the corner and Roland was bleeding profusely from the chest. I scooted over to his side, took the book, and said, “I've got to get you out of here. I don't think I can lift you, so can you help me?”
He was lying close to my car door. If I could get him standing and into the car, we just might escape. As long as we were on the ground, we were protected from flying bullets, but once we moved, we would be vulnerable. Roland still hadn't said a word, so I reached over to shake him to see if I could bring him around. Before I touched him, there was a loud poof and he was gone. That blew my mind, but I shoved it aside for later consideration and concentrated on getting myself and the book to safety.
Weighing my options, I looked around carefully. From where I crouched on the ground, I saw that the wires under the steering column in the Porsche had been destroyed. I had to assume that the same was true of the BMW. Tucking the book into my ever-present kit, I scuttled down the row of cars lining the narrow parking lot. When I got near the end of the row, I hunkered down and pulled out my cell phone. I thought with Roland gone I was probably safe unless the shooter knew I had the book. That stupid book had to be the cause of all this trouble. Somebody wanted it as badly as Roland did. I almost called Kit, but decided to call John instead. He owed me a favor. Before he could say more than hello, I jumped in to explain that I needed a ride and someone mechanical who could get my car running well enough to get it moving. In typical John fashion, he didn't ask any questions except the address where he could find me.
I stayed hidden and waited. It seemed like a long time had passed when I finally heard a police siren headed in my direction. Suddenly the siren stopped and minutes later, John pulled silently into the parking lot. When he got close to where I was hiding, I stood so he could see me. It was a tense moment, because even though I believed the shooter was long gone, there was no way to be positive. When no bullets began flying, I took a long, ragged breath and headed toward John's car. There was a man in the car with John whom he introduced as Al Weames. Mr. Weames turned out to be the mechanic I'd requested. Rounding up Mr. Weames explained why it had seemed like John had taken a long time arriving. He said, “Hop in and I'll give you a ride home. Al will take your car to his garage and put it back like it's supposed to be. Once it's fixed, he'll bring it back to you.”
We waited a couple of minutes to be sure this Al guy could get it running well enough to get it moved. He had it going in no time.
Still favoring my leg from the other night's dog encounter, I limped to the car. John said, “I should have asked before. Were you hurt? I see you're limping. We can easily go by the hospital before heading home.
“I'm fine. The limp is another long story but doesn't have anything to do with tonight. This time I was lucky, just a few gravel burns from the parking lot. Speaking of injury, I forgot you aren't supposed to be driving yet, are you? I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking too clearly when I called.”
“Not to worry. I told you at lunch tha I've been cleared for normal activity. They're just being extra cautious waiting another week to let me go back to work. I'm fine for driving. Not to change the subject, but would you like to tell me what went on back there tonight?”
“I'll be glad to tell you most of it. I may skip anything incriminating.”
He laughed. “I took that part for granted. Let's hear your story. And by the way, thanks for trusting me enough to call. I hope this means we're back on normal terms.”
“I doubt if we're ever on normal terms exactly, but we're fine. There really isn't a lot to tell about tonight. I was delivering some property to a client, and while we were in the parking lot getting ready to make the exchange, somebody used a rifle to shoot him. I never could spot where they fired from.”
“Okay, that fits with what I saw at the scene, but where is the client?”
“This part has no rational explanation, but when I moved over to see how badly he was hurt, I heard a loud poof, and he was gone.”
“Are we talking gone as in dead here, or do you mean disappeared?”
“I don't know what to think, but I promise you he just wasn't there anymore. I have no idea what happened or where he went.”
“Was your client a magician or what?”
“I don't know. It's possible. He was into some pretty weird stuff. If I ever figure this out, I'll let you know.”
As we pulled into my driveway he said, “You never fail to get involved in the weirdest stuff, but at least you're home safe and sound. I won't come in at the moment since you look exhausted, and I know I am. It will be interesting to hear what the police think when they find that BMW. I'll let you know what I hear.”
I took one last paranoid look around to be sure we hadn't been followed, even though I'd been checking during the whole ride. Finally, I thanked John for the help and went inside. My first act was to lock the book back in my safe. So now I had the book but not my money, I didn't know if my client was alive or dead, and I was down another car. It just hadn't been a good night.
~ * ~
First thing the following morning, which was when I'd always been able to reach Defrain in the past, I tried calling his number. I didn't get an answer, not even a voicemail. Where was his ever-present secretary? Wherever he'd gone the night before, he either hadn't gone home or he was ignoring his phone. I had to hope he was still alive and would still want the book. I'd just have to give it some time and see if he eventually called me. He was an interesting man and a good client. I hoped he was getting medical care somewhere and would call when he could.
In the meantime, I would put my efforts into proving Devon was a murderer. It was time to put him out of business before he located his last two victims and decided to kill again.